


Rearrange

by smilebackwards



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Oblivious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-02-23 03:26:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23304919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smilebackwards/pseuds/smilebackwards
Summary: Prince Fili’s betrothal to the elf prince of Mirkwood causes Gimli many problems, not least of which, he’s beginning to strongly suspect that Legolas may be his One.
Relationships: Gimli (Son of Glóin)/Legolas Greenleaf
Comments: 92
Kudos: 751
Collections: Back to Middle-earth Month 2020: Endings and Beginnings





	1. Chapter 1

“The elf will need rooms in the royal wing,” Thorin said, heavily, after the alliance had been announced. 

“He can have my quarters,” Gimli offered, eager to offset the inconvenience he’d brought upon his kin in the name of diplomacy and trade. The marriage alliance between Fili and Thranduil’s youngest son had been Gimli’s proposal, the result of endless conferences with the ministers of economics and war and their dozens of subcommittee attachés. Mirkwood was dark and battle-stricken but it was rich in other ways and strategically placed. “I wouldn’t mind moving closer to the Diplomatic Office.”

As a member of a lesser branch of Durin, sixth in line from the throne, Gimil held quarters that were richly appointed and abutted the royal wing. An elven prince wouldn’t recognize the difference between a lord’s room and a prince’s, not in a dwarven kingdom.

Thorin shook his head. It would be a slight to the prince, even unknowing. Worse, all of Erebor _would_ know and might take it for a cue that a measure of disrespect toward the elven prince would be allowed. 

“Perhaps we could combine Fili’s and my anterooms into new chambers,” Dis suggested.

“The engineers have more important things to do than rearrange the royal quarters,” Thorin said, plainly, and it was true. There had been a collapse in one of the eastern mining caves that required excavation in unending shifts. Only two days had passed since the search teams had rescued the last of the dwarves caught in it.

“Then it must be Frerin’s rooms,” Dis said, quiet, and Thorin nodded. 

Gimli held back a wince. Prince Frerin’s rooms had been held empty and silent in remembrance since his death almost a century past.

It was proper and befitting but Gimli couldn’t help but think it would do Prince Legolas no favors to be housed in Frerin’s old rooms. Fili and Kili had never met their perished uncle but that had made him something of a mythological figure in their eyes. Fili thrilled to be told that he had his uncle’s countenance and Kili had first picked up a bow upon learning that it had been Frerin’s weapon of choice.

“It is decided,” Thorin said, his head low, and Gimli bowed and left the room.

-

“I’m not speaking to you,” Fili said to Gimli, on his second day of not speaking to Gimli after they’d exited the great doors of Erebor, bound for Mirkwood.

Gimli, well-trained in diplomacy, made no reply.

Kili snorted. “It’s only a formality, Fili. I’ll have a political marriage soon too. At least your husband will be beautiful.”

“You don’t know that,” Fili said churlishly. “No one’s ever even met this Prince Legolas.”

It was true, but not something Gimli considered particular cause for concern. Much of the reason for the alliance was to foster relations. Barely more than a dozen elves of Mirkwood, envoys and councilors and the king himself, were known to the dwarves of Erebor despite being one of their closest neighbors.

Kili rolled his eyes. “Have you ever heard of an ugly elf?”

“I’m sure Prince Legolas has many fine qualities,” Gimli said, hoping to end the conversation. They were still miles from the edge of Mirkwood but it wouldn’t do to begin the alliance with insult or for Fili to express such unwillingness going forward. 

Gimli had exchanged a letter with Legolas himself and he seemed perfectly committed to the benefits the alliance would bring to his kingdom as well. A wagon of dwarf-forged blades was being pulled between Fili and Kili and would be exchanged for Legolas’ return with them to Erebor.

“His finest quality will be to prevent Mirkwood from attacking us,” Fili said. 

Crass, but not entirely inaccurate, Gimli thought, though he didn’t give it voice. It would do no good to encourage Fili’s pragmatism while it was tainted with such disdain.

Another hour of walking brought them to the border of Mirkwood. Gimli stared up at the dark, forbidding trees and felt a shiver run down his spine. The elven delegation was not there.

“How long do you think they intend to keep us waiting?” Kili asked. 

“Peace, young prince,” a voice said, out of the dark, and elves in green and brown garb melted forward like spirits, “we are here.”

“Ninimdaer,” Gimli said, gladly. Ninimdaer had been his diplomatic counterpart on the elven side. They’d met thrice in person and exchanged letters too numerous to count, hammering out terms.

“Lord Gimli,” Ninimdaer returned, inclining his head. As warm a greeting as Gimli had ever seen from any elf, though he consistently refused to leave off Gimli’s title in addressing him. It always left Gimli feeling rather awkward since most elves had no such titles themselves and he couldn’t return the courtesy.

King Thranduil strode forward from the tree break, resplendent in silver robes and a crown of mistletoe. “Let us get this over with,” he said with a voice like an ice pick and a look at Gimli that might have killed him at twenty paces.

Fili, at least, looked amused by Gimli’s misfortune. Gimli bowed to the king. “King Thranduil, may I present Crown Prince Fili and his brother, Prince Kili.”

Thranduil turned his freezing gaze to Fili and the wagon of weaponry behind him. “For the treasure you have wrested from me, you should be sending tribute in recompense until the last days of your line,” Thranduil hissed.

“ _Ada,_ ” Prince Legolas said, embarrassed, as he stepped forward to his father’s side.

Gimli saw Fili’s jaw drop. An ugly elf indeed. Prince Legolas was tall and sharp jawed, with features as fine and delicate as handspun glass. His hair was beaten gold and his eyes shone like chips of bright-polished emerald.

Kili elbowed Fili in the side. Fili winced and cleared his throat, recovering himself.

Gimli couldn’t fault Fili his moment of discomposure. Gimli, who had probably seen more elves than anyone in Erebor, all of them vanishingly beautiful, had never felt his heart stutter and stop the way it did when he looked on Prince Legolas.

“I’m pleased to meet you, Prince Fili,” Legolas said, his voice high and fluting, with the slight lengthening of the ‘o’ vowel that seemed common to the elven pronunciation of Westron. He bowed to Fili, lower than necessary considering his station. Gimli saw Thranduil’s lips press tightly together. Fili didn’t appear to notice but Gimli had long learned that didn’t necessarily mean he _hadn’t_ noticed. “Prince Kili. Lord Gimli,” Legolas acknowledged with a nod to each.

Thranduil stepped in front of him. “I should like to review the terms of the alliance again,” he said.

“Certainly,” Gimli said, agreeably, though he and Ninimdaer had finalized it ad nauseam. He drew the document from his pack. Ori had copied it down in his finest scribe’s hand for the final version and its length had necessitated it being bound into a booklet. All that remained was the final page, signed already by Thorin and awaiting Thranduil’s countersignature.

“May I inspect the weapons while we wait?” Legolas asked of Gimli quietly. “Or would it be guache to see my dowry?”

“By all means, my prince,” Gimli said. It would be best to integrate Legolas into dwarven hierarchy as quickly as possible. He would be one of Gimli’s princes now, the third prince of Erebor. “Ten times your weight in dwarf-forged silver.” 

There had been objections to the sending of weapons at first. What if Mirkwood broke faith and turned them back on their makers? And so, escalated from Gimli’s original proposal of a permanently stationed envoy, no lesser hostage had been demanded than the king’s son.

Legolas’ eyes flashed with brief humor. “What if I have gained a pound since the weighing?”

“Then I would offer you my own axe,” Gimli said and meant it. There was little he wouldn’t do in service of this alliance.

Legolas looked at him in surprise, then put a tentative hand on Gimli’s shoulder. “That is kind indeed,” he said, and mentioned it no further.

Gimli returned after an excruciating line by line review to find that Fili and Kili had been good hosts at least. Fili was holding a ten inch dagger out horizontally to Legolas and pointing out the tang of the blade. Legolas looked suitably impressed. As a prince, Legolas likely had some training in war, though he wore no visible weapon. Gimli suspected Ninimdaer’s diplomatic hand in that.

“And this one?” Legolas asked, unfolding a square of black velvet to reveal two long silver knives, their carved ebony handles capped with gold. Legolas ran a gentle hand along the carved Cirith runes for _strength, valor, glory,_ although few elves would know them as such. 

The knives were a set fashioned by his Gimli’s own mother, renowned for her delicate work. They would have fetched a high price in Erebor. 

Gloin had begrudged them going to the elves. “Your fine craftsmanship, sent to those who couldn’t possibly appreciate it? They will gather dust in Thranduil’s dungeons when they could be in the hands of one of Erebor’s finest warriors!”

Rel had not risen to such outrage. “They are not for the appreciation of elves,” she’d said. “They are in recognition of this treaty as Gimli’s master craft.”

That had chastened Gloin. A master craft was a dwarf’s first great accomplishment in their chosen specialty. Gimli’s mother wore Gloin’s own master craft around her neck always: a fine sapphire pendant that was always much exclaimed over.

But the knives it appeared _were_ to be appreciated by an elf. Legolas turned the blades slightly to catch the sun.

“Do you like them?” Thranduil asked. “Take them with you.” 

One of the elves removed his own knives from a bit of leather sheaving strapped over his back and offered it to the prince. Thranduil looked at Gimli challengingly but Gimli felt no objection. It pleased him to see his mother’s craftsmanship so admired, and for the knives to sit along the shoulderblades of a prince. 

Thranduil reached out a long, pale hand to cup his son’s face.

“I will miss you, _Ada,_ ” Legolas said, and that was that. A single chest of Legolas’ accoutrements replaced the silver weapons on the wagon and both parties turned back homewards.

-

Legolas stared up at the thousand foot high stone arches of Erebor’s entrance hall.

Fili followed the elf’s gaze. “Seven centuries of master stonemasons built this hall,” he said, the first conversational foray Fili had offered. Conversation on the road had been sparse and stilted despite Gimli’s best efforts. It was well that Fili was beginning to take the lead.

Fili continued to narrate their progress through Erebor, with occasional asides from Kili, until they reached the doors of the throne room. The guards uncrossed their axes without speaking, their eyes fixed on Legolas. Gimli stepped in front of their sightline and stared them down until they pulled the doors wide.

Thorin was sitting tall and proud on the Raven Throne, Dis on the seat at his right hand. He was surrounded by courtiers but he waved them away and they parted like a sea to cluster along the walls and stare disapprovingly. Gimli’s proposal of alliance with the elves had not been well-liked by the aristocracy of Erebor. But then, it had not been for them.

“Prince Legolas of Mirkwood,” Thorin said, his voice deep and regal. “Be welcome.”

Legolas bowed, hair a curtain over his expression. “Thank you, King Thorin. My father sends his greetings.” The exact contents of Thranduil’s greetings were wisely left to the imagination.

Thorin’s lip twitched with amusement. A good sign, Gimli thought. 

“Gimli,” Throin said, “the treaty is signed?”

“Yes, my king,” Gimli said, presenting the dwarven copy to Throin’s hands.

“Good,” Thorin said. “Let this be an era of friendship and peace for our peoples. Prince Legolas, my nephews and Gimli will show you to your rooms. If you wish for anything, you need only ask.”

Legolas inclined his head in thanks and they left the throne room, Thorin’s court and councilors eagerly flocking back around him.

The royal wing was not distant from the throne room. “These are my rooms,” Kili pointed out. “And those are mother’s, and Fili’s, and Uncle Thorin’s.”

“And these,” Gimli said, before anyone could mention Frerin, “are yours.” 

He pushed open the heavy mahogany door. Emerald green rugs and linens had replaced the royal blue and silver that had decorated during Frerin’s time and an elven tapestry, gifted centuries ago, had been hung on one wall. The Weaver’s Guild had quickly refurbished it, its once bright threads gone dull from years of neglect in one of the lesser used treasure rooms where strange, unappreciated gifts were left to molder.

Legolas walked to the eastern wall and traced the patterns cut painstakingly into the rock, hundreds of interlocking squares inlaid with silver. “Are there no…,” he trailed off.

Gimli closed his eyes.

“No what?” Fili snapped. “No gems? No mithril?” Gimli had not been wrong about Fili’s displeasure that Legolas was to be given Frerin’s old rooms.

“Nothing,” Legolas said, dropping his hands from the wall as if it had burned him. “They are lovely. I thank you for your hospitality.”

“Your things will be brought up to you,” Gimli said. “We’ll leave you to settle in.”

“Yes,” Legolas said, his voice faint. “That would be well.” He looked, suddenly, almost afraid, but Gimli couldn’t think what of or how to comfort him. He’d seemed quite stoic about the arrangement until now.

“We’ll come get you in time for dinner,” Kili said, cheerfully oblivious, and closed the door behind them.

-

Gimli tapped gently on the door to Legolas’ rooms. Fili was apparently happy to let him languish in his rooms but Gimli at least had some sense of duty and hospitality. 

Legolas had put out a few trinkets on the dresser but otherwise the room looked untouched from the previous day. “The room is yours to do with as you see fit,” Gimli said, worried that Fili’s reaction would prevent Legolas from personalizing anything, leaving the rooms sterile and austere for centuries. It was meant to be his home. Or as close as could be managed.

“Thank you, Lord Gimli,” Legolas said. “Truly, I need little.”

“You may call me Gimli,” Gimli said, hoping to prevent the awkward formality Ninimdaer always insisted on with him.

Legolas nodded. “Then you should call me Legolas. My brother is the true prince. I’ve always found the title to be cumbersome. We use it little in Mirkwood.” 

That Gimli had not intended. Legolas was a rank above him. He made a noise of protest.

“You do not call Fili and Kili by their titles in common conversation,” Legolas said, his head tilted to the side curiously, like a thrush.

“Fili and Kili I’ve known since we were wee lads,” Gimli said, “and we are kin besides.”

“Then will you do it because I wish it?” Legolas asked, his eyes teasing. “It is only polite.”

“Aye,” Gimli said. He knew what it was to be outmaneuvered. And part of him found it pleasing to be on so familiar terms. Surely it could only speak to his success in repairing relations. “Come, then, Legolas. I should like to show you more of Erebor than the throne room and your quarters.”

Gimli had never found the halls of Erebor dark, but Legolas kept his eyes always on the torches set into the wall sconces as they walked. Gimli wished, ridiculously, to offer him his hand, but they were already receiving stares and whispers from everyone they passed. He put a guiding hand to Legolas’ elbow, unobtrusive between the wide sleeve of Gimli’s tunic and the closeness of their bodies, as a compromise. A little of the tension in Legolas’ muscles released and he favored Gimli with a thankful smile.

The lower town was a bustling place, full of shops and small dwellings, their wax paper windows bright. Gimli bought Legolas a piece of warm sweetbread from a street vendor, hoping it might be to his taste. The elven delicacies that Nimindaer had described for Gimli during their discussions—honey and winterberries, crisp green apples—were rare to Erebor. 

Legolas made an appreciative noise as he bit into the bread and the street vendor smiled. 

The tailor had to stand on a chair to take Legolas’ measurements. “Elves,” he tsked, but not unkindly. “You’ll be wanting robes for the wedding?”

Gimli shook his head. “Only some tunics for everyday use for now, Master Turi.” 

The elven clothing Legolas had brought wasn’t inappropriate by any means but having garments in the dwarven style would be one less difference for the dwarven nobles to turn their noses up at. And besides, Gimli felt rather invested in seeing him garbed in dwarven finery.

They wandered aimlessly for a bit afterwards, looking into the shops and being followed by whispers. _That is the elven prince for sure and certain._

A trio of dwarflings were clustered together in the mouth of an alleyway. To a one they had shining gold piercings through their ears, but their tunics were frayed and they wolfed down the bread shared between their small hands as if it were the last meal they would ever see.

“I thought all of Erebor’s citizens were rich beyond dreams,” Legolas said, his voice pitched low and troubled.

“Precious metals are plentiful in Erebor,” Gimli said, “but one cannot eat silver and gold.” He looked up at Legolas. “I would have us send your people a hundred swords, a thousand golden rings, that they might trade us bread and blackberries in return.”

“Yes,” Legolas said quietly. His eyes on Gimli were as soft as his voice. “I see.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Lord Gimli?”

“Yes, Draeg?” Gimli said, looking up from the pile of correspondence that had somehow spawned while he’d been away from the Diplomatic Office. Draeg was one of Gimli’s undersecretaries, as Gimli had once been to Balin. 

“Prince Legolas is—,” Draeg paused, seeming to grasp for words. Never a good sign when speaking with a trained diplomat. Gimli waited. “Prince Legolas is in the entrance hall,” Draeg said, finally. 

“Doing what?” Gimli prompted. Legolas’ existence in the entrance hall wasn’t the type of crisis the long pause had foretold.

“He’s looking at the carvings.” 

“Yes?” Gimli said. The carvings were lovely craftsmanship.

Draeg let out a deflating breath. “The— the ceiling carvings.”

“The ceiling carvings,” Gimli echoed. “Show me.”

Draeg led Gimli to the far south corner of the entrance hall and pointed. Legolas had apparently climbed one of the thousand foot columns as if it were a particularly limbless tree. Gimli looked up, and up, and up. 

Gimli wasn’t practiced in yelling at foreign dignitaries, but this was a step too far. Among the shadows, he could just barely see a flash of Legolas’ golden hair with the naked eye. There wasn’t even scaffolding along the wall. He could imagine with terrible clarity Legolas’ pretty head broken open across the marble floor. 

“Come down from there, you fool elf!”

“Gimli?” Legolas called down, his voice echoing from the acoustics of the ceiling. He slid down the column with ridiculous grace and looked at Gimli with questioning eyes. At least he’d had the common decency to get dust down his front. 

Gimli brushed away some of the dust on Legolas’ new dwarven tunic. It looked well on him, even in its current state. “Perhaps you might select an area of artistic study less suited to giving my staff heart palpitations,” Gimli said.

Legolas tipped his head. “Certainly I would defer to your expertise on where to find more of the artistic treasures of your kingdom.”

Gimli waved Draeg away to continue his duties. Draeg escaped gratefully.

“Good,” Gimli said to Legolas. “Come, I think you will enjoy the statuary.”

-

“You are neglecting your duty,” Balin said baldly. Gimli had appealed to him for help with Fili since his own entreaties had gotten him nowhere. Balin’s words might perhaps hold more weight out of age and respect.

“I have an entire year to get to know him,” Fili protested. The lengthy betrothal had been insisted upon by Thranduil along with a full treaty negation if Legolas wished it at the end of that time.

“That doesn’t mean you should leave the lad to his own devices for all that time, my prince,” Balin said. “Show him Erebor! See where he takes an interest. He’ll be with us for centuries, Mahal willing. We must find something to occupy his hours.”

“Fine,” Fili said. “I was going to go see Kili anyway. I’ll take Legolas down to the training grounds with me.”

Gimli didn’t think showing Legolas the training grounds was the most auspicious place for Fili to begin, certainly not the most politic, but it was for Fili to choose and Legolas had liked the knives after all.

Legolas looked surprised to be requested from his rooms. “I would be very interested to see the training of your warriors,” he said, closing the door behind him. “In Mirkwood we must always be ready with new stratagems against the spiders. They adapt to our defenses quickly.”

The spiders of Mirkwood were creatures of legend. Gimli would have said that the tales of fifteen foot monsters with venomous fangs as long as a dwarf’s arm were surely exaggerated, but then the elves had agreed to betroth their prince to Fili in exchange for strong steel swords and the promise of alliance. “Is it true that the largest may reach a size of fifteen feet?” he asked Legolas.

“Of course not,” Legolas said sedately. “They are quite commonly over twenty.”

“Kili!” Fili called when they arrived at the training grounds. Gimli had spent many years on the square of packed hard earth, axe in hand, under the tutelage of Dwalin and the other masters.

Kili lowered his bow and turned to them, posing rakishly. “I see you’ve brought our guest to see the finest archery in Erebor.”

Fili rolled his eyes. “Archery is not popular in Erebor,” he said to Legolas. “Kili is one of only a few dozen who practice it with any regularity.”

“I should be glad to see it,” Legolas said. “As you know, archery is much more common in the elven kingdoms.”

“Are you an archer then?” Kili asked excitedly.

A brief look of sadness flashed across Legolas’ still features. “I was trained since childhood.”

“Show us!” Kili said, holding out his bow. 

Legolas looked to Gimli as if for permission. “They say elven archers are second to none,” Gimli said in encouragement. He was interested too to see what aptitude Legolas might have. A skilled warrior might win respect from the people of Erebor, if not love. 

Legolas grasped the blackwood bow, his long fingers wrapping around the grip and testing the string. It was probably quite a bit smaller than he was used to considering the relative height difference between him and Kili.

He stepped up to the mark and, faster than Gimli could even see, loosed an arrow into the target. It struck dead center. As Gimli watched it quiver, another arrow split it in two, and then another. 

“Do you use moving targets as well?” Legolas asked Kili while the party stared.

“Of course,” Kili said with enthusiasm and took Legolas through the rest of the training course. Legolas fired unerring shot after unerring shot. 

“He’s certainly formidable,” Fili said, with a spark of interest.

He’s a thing of beauty, Gimli thought, watching the deadly dance.

“I didn’t see a bow among your luggage when we departed,” Fili said curiously, when Legolas and Kili returned to the rest of their party.

“Ninimdaer did not wish me to bring weapons,” Legolas said. Gimli realized suddenly that his mother’s knives had made no reappearance since their arrival in Erebor, though many dwarves commonly carried knives on their belts.

“But your craft?” Fili pressed. “Your craft is war?”

Legolas tipped his head to the side. “We do not think of it in quite the same terms as you I think, but, yes, my place in Mirkwood was as a warrior.”

“Then you must have your tools,” Fili said. “I would never be parted from my fiddle.”

Legolas smiled, a little sharp. “But can you kill something with your fiddle?”

“Absolutely,” Kili laughed. “You should have heard him when he first began practicing. I thought Uncle Thorin would burst a blood vessel.”

“As if you didn’t almost shoot him when you began practicing archery,” Fili retorted. He turned to Legolas and puffed out his chest, “I received my mastery for the Music Guild only a decade ago. I’ll play for you sometime.”

“I will look forward to it,” Legolas said. 

“And we’ll ask for your bow to be sent,” Fili said. “Gimli will help.”

Legolas turned his large eyes to Gimli. There was a fervent and unlooked for hope in his gaze, as if he had thought he would be a prisoner, kept from his craft and any of the things that made him happy.

Gimli felt his heart clench. “Of course,” he said. The interaction was exactly what he’d hoped for yet somehow Gimli felt strangely unsettled. “Of course.”

-

Thranduil sent Legolas’ bow and quiver happily, and the first exchange of trade goods besides.

Fili stared at the dozens of casks of unasked for Dorwinion wine, labelled specifically with Legolas’ name. “Your father must think all the wine in Arda couldn’t make up for having to marry a dwarf.”

“I would disabuse him of the notion,” Legolas said, wryly, “but then he might send us less.”

Gimli looked at Legolas, running his hands along his bow, fingers catching on old battle scars and imperfections. Behind him the wagon of goods—wine and bread and jugs of sweet honey—the first fruits of the alliance that a hundred dwarves had decried as folly, would soon sit on the tables of a thousand dwarven dwellings.

Gimli had never felt so fulfilled. 

-

“Perhaps he’d like to see the treasure halls,” Fili said, the next day.

Gimli rejoiced internally. Finally they were bonding. Perhaps Legolas’ still face would crack with another smile.

In the Hall of Ancestors, Legolas looked in wonder at the life-size portraits. Kings and queens and princes, stretching back in a line unbroken to Durin himself. The paints were made from flowers imported from Gondor and the frames were carven gold.

“Is there one of you?” Legolas asked and Fili nodded and showed him to the furthest end, where Thorin and Dis’ portraits presided over two smaller portraits of Fili and Kili, as yet unbearded. 

Legolas smiled and Fili grinned back. “They’ll do another when I’m crowned,” he said, laughing. “And one for you as well if you wish it.”

“Come,” Fili said, pushing open the doors to the Great Treasure Room, “there is far more to see.”

Mountains of gold filled the treasure room. Coins and goblets, crowns and shields. Chests brimmed high with gems, the green of emeralds reflected in the bright shine of gold. Gimli had stood stunned for hours when his father had first judged him ready to see the wealth of their nation.

Legolas raised a hand to his eyes to shield them from the bright glare of polished gold. He stared around with awe, but he did not smile. 

“This is wealth beyond imagining,” he said in almost a whisper, picking up a handful of loose golden coins and then letting them fall to the floor to clink against their brothers. “Do you not find it excessive?”

“Can one ever have too much beauty?” Fili asked.

A disquieted look rippled through Legolas’ eyes. 

Fili led him through an arch that gave way to the secondary treasure room but any appreciation Legolas held for the artistry had disappeared. He stared up at another pile of gold, high as a snowdrift in midwinter, with unease. “Do you not fear...”

“Armies?” Gimli asked. “Dragons?” Both were high concerns in Erebor. To have wealth was to invite others to take it from you.

Legolas nodded.

“We have safeguards such as can be had for such things,” Gimli said. “Fine warriors and,” he bowed in Legolas’ direction, “alliances with our neighbors.”

“And the dragons?” Legolas asked. “I have never heard of an alliance with dragons.”

“No,” Gimli said, though he would have tried his hand at it had Balin not looked at him as if he’d gone mad. “For the threat of dragons we have great spears and trebuchets that can shoot fire. And always, in the east, we keep lookouts near the nesting grounds.”

Legolas looked like he would say more but then he froze, his gaze arrested by a pedestal upon which sat a beautiful silver necklace. It was inlaid with white gems, each as large as a sparrow’s egg, that glowed as if with an inner fire.

“We must have been poor indeed the day my father was convinced to part with this,” Legolas said, his voice as cold as winter ice.

Gimli felt his stomach drop. He should have done a full inventory of the treasures of elven provenance before the treaty was drafted. The tribute they’d provided to Erebor through Thrain’s rule had long come in the form of wood and foodstuffs but it was still an unforgivable oversight. Clearly the history of this piece was acrimonious.

Fili had gotten ahead of them. “What’s this?” he said, coming back to catch them up.

“So many mountains of treasure,” Legolas spit, “you do not even know what you have.”

Fili stepped back, surprised by such passion, and Legolas swept by him, out through the main hold and away.

“What was that about?” Fili asked Gimli.

“I’m not sure,” Gimli said. But he intended to find out.

-

Three days it had taken for Gimli and Ori to find the book that held the secret of the white gems. It had been miscategorized, hidden in a cobwebbed corner behind an old history of the Second Age, almost as if in shame.

Gimli winced as he read through the pages. It had been done—ill done—back in the reign of old King Thror. The elves had had a poor harvest and, far from being able to provide the demanded tribute, they had instead needed the resources of Erebor to broker with other lands.

The necklace had been offered reluctantly, but only for a time. A pawned item, to be recouped by Thranduil. But the terms had not been clear, or worse, Gimli thought, reading between the lines, Thror had violated them. 

It seemed entirely too plausible. Thror had ever been known for coveting gems and the fire opals would certainly have appealed to him. More in knowing that they meant something to his rival. Even in the dwarven account, it did not reflect kindly on the dwarves, and history being written by the victors, Gimli rather suspected it had been the worse.

Legolas had not emerged from his rooms since he’d seen the necklace. Plates of food left outside his door had been untouched. Gimli picked up an apple from the most recent silver plate and buffed it against his shirt. When he knocked on the door, there was no answer.

“It belonged to your people,” Gimli said, through the door. Legloas felt much farther from him than three inches of mahogany. This wrong, committed centuries ago, had the power to topple all he had worked for.

The door cracked open and Gimli took the invitation, entering the room slowly. Legolas had retreated to the far corner of the room, his arms folded tight to his body.

Gimli had not thought Legolas much favored his father, but the ice behind his stare now was pure Thranduil. “It belonged to my mother.”

Little was known about the elven queen. Some said that she was dead, gone to the halls of the elves. Others, practiced in the dwarven custom of keeping their few women insulated, believed she was only hidden.

“It should have been returned to you,” Gimli said. Thorin would have done so, if not Thrain, had he known. “Knowledge of its provenance was lost.”

“I suppose it is some small comfort to know that it was kept to this generation out of ignorance rather than willful malice,” Legolas said, but his eyes were full of snapping anger.

“I’m sorry,” Gimli said. It was the most he could offer. The treasury didn’t fall under diplomatic purview, although Gimli had already sent out missives to several officials requesting a meeting. 

“My mother is dead,” Legolas said, settling that debate cleanly. “In my every memory she is wearing that necklace. I can remember the feel of the stones beneath my cheek. I asked my father years ago if I could see it. I was,” Legolas hesitated, “upset when he told me no. But he did not tell me why.”

“He ransomed it for your people,” Gimli said. “Grain and rice it bought, and we should not have kept it thereafter, when the debt was repaid.” It had been foolish of Thror to accept it in the first place, to encourage enmity when he could have offered grace. It was little wonder that relations had eroded.

Legolas turned away. “My father made the right choice. It is only a thing.”

“Aye,” Gimli said, soft, but his heart felt heavy and full of dread.

-

“Perhaps you should court him for me, cousin,” Fili said, looking at the list Gimli had drawn up in desperation. 

Gimli felt a strange pang go through his chest.

Fili had made no further overtures since the treasure room disaster and at this point Gimli rather feared that Legolas would invoke the treaty caveat and not go through with the betrothal. The elves would remain distant satellites to Erebor. No food would be exchanged, no wood, no wine. 

And Gimli might never see Legolas again. 

It was this above all that stole Gimli’s breath, and he chided himself for it. An alliance with an entire kingdom was more important than the presence of a new friend, for all that Gimli had come to cherish Legolas as such.

“The Stonecraft Fountain. The cave gardens. The summer market in Dale,” Fili read off. “You think he would enjoy these things?”

Gimli thought so very much. He thought that Legolas’ face would open into a smile, that his eyes would shine. At the fountain, he would dip his hands beneath the water. In the gardens, he would trace the blue shimmering leaves of the plants. In the market, grain would sift through his fingers. That Fili would not count these moments as gifts made something in Gimli’s chest ache, fierce as a wound.

“If I show him the fountain, will you take him to the gardens and to Dale?” Fili asked.

“Yes,” Gimli said quickly, though it was a poor bargain. Fili should have taken Legolas on all three outings with joy in his heart, and more besides. At this rate, most of Erebor probably thought Legolas would be marrying Gimli.

“Are you all right?” Fili asked, looking at Gimli with concern.

Gimli realized he’d put his fist to his chest, as if in pain, and lowered it quickly. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, of course.”


	3. Chapter 3

Legolas looked ill. The sharpness of his cheekbones had turned cavernous and his eyes seemed strangely dull. 

Gimli, who had been given to understand that elves didn’t take ill, almost took a step backward on seeing the odd hollowness of Legolas’ face. “Are you quite well?” he asked, concern overcoming politeness.

“Yes, of course,” Legolas said, unconvincing.

Gimli briefly considered making up some minor, inane question so that Legolas might go back to resting but at least if Legolas were with him, Gimli could monitor his health. 

“Would you be interested in seeing the gardens?” Gimli had meant to ask Legolas if he’d like to visit Dale but it seemed as if a stiff wind might blow him over. The gardens would be a more moderate walk.

A brief, heartening brightness illuminated Legolas’ face. “I didn’t realize you had gardens inside the mountain,” he said. 

“Aye, though they may be a bit different from the gardens you’re used to,” Gimli said. The sunlight needed for most plants to thrive didn’t reach the depths of the mountain, one of the reasons Erebor was so reliant on its external allies for food supplies.

“I am quite intrigued,” Legolas said, teasing. He put his hand on Gimli’s shoulder as they descended the Southern Steps, the only indication of his continued discomfort with the depths of the caves. Gimli had deliberately taken a longer route, more well-lit with torches and colored lanterns, but the gardens were cool and dim. 

In the quiet, Gimli heard Legolas’ breath catch when they turned the corner that revealed the cave gardens in all their beauty. Bright stalactites in coral and pale rose clung to the ceiling, dripping water into clear, shining pools. The walls glittered as if studded with a thousand gems.

But it was the plants Gimli knew Legolas would love best. Tiny, gold-capped mushrooms peeked through cracks in the walls and in the floor. A river of ankle-high ferns stretched away into the distance, their blue-green leaves glowing with luminescence. 

Legolas knelt and stroked the leaves with reverence. Tears wet his cheeks.

Gimli sat beside him and looked upon his face.

 _Dust and starlight,_ Gloin had said, his voice a scoff, when Gimli had first asked what elves were. As a child, Gimli had not thought those such terrible things to be. Nor could he think so now, looking at the faint soft radiance given off from Legolas’ skin in the dark of the caverns, as beautiful as the cool, aquamarine glow of the ferns. 

-

Legolas had seemed somehow restored by the visit to the gardens but Gimli felt no need to take chances. If Legolas would not speak of his health, there were others that might be able to provide illumination.

Ninimdaer had written back urgently, his penmanship a scrawl and his words far shorter and less carefully chosen than traditional missives:

_You do not mean the prince has been held in the mountain all this time? Elves require sunlight, fresh air. Bring him outside at once._

Gimli cursed himself. He should have foreseen this. So much thought he’d put into the economic details of the alliance, trade goods and delivery schedules, but beyond bare food and lodging he had little considered the comfort of the prince whose presence would purchase such things. Elves were not meant for caverns of stone, not even in so wonderous a kingdom as Erebor. Legolas had shown signs of trepidation that Gimli should have been more attuned to. But he’d never said a word.

When they exited the great doors of Erebor, Legolas lifted his face to the bright sun and smiled. 

Gimli looked away, dazzled. He thought of the way Legolas had traced the silver engravings on the sun-facing wall of his rooms and knew suddenly what he had meant to say. _Are there no windows?_

“Forgive me,” Gimli said, quietly. “I did not take into account your affinity for nature.” There were dwarves in Erebor who had never ventured past its gates and never wished to. “We will make adjustments for your comfort.” On the leeward side of the mountain, there were balconied rooms that Gimli could incorporate into their daily walks and he ought to have considered excursions to Dale in any case.

“Erebor is a lovely kingdom,” Legolas hastened to reassure him. “And I’m very grateful to you for showing me the gardens.” 

He’d become a fixture after their first visit. If Legolas wasn’t to be found in his rooms or the training grounds, it was passing certain that he’d be in the gardens. It had proven a good place for him to interact with the citizens of Erebor as well. Gimli had come upon him several times speaking quietly to the mostly elderly dwarves who frequented the gardens, or sitting side by side in silent contemplation.

“Aye, Dale too is a lovely kingdom,” Gimli said. “And we may visit whenever you wish.”

“We?” Legolas asked.

“You,” Gimli corrected himself. “And your chosen escort, should you like one. Perhaps Fili might come on your next visit.”

Legolas’ smile faded a little. “Yes, Fili is very kind,” he said vaguely.

The summer markets of Dale were bright with apples and other ripe fruits, cloth dyed in sky blue and fine, rich purple. Musicians played on every corner and children darted around the vendor stalls, their faces sticky with sweets. 

Gimli watched Legolas cup a delicate blown glass bowl in his hands. When he tapped it with a fingernail, it produced a pure, crystal ringing. Legolas was outlined by the sun, limned in gold, and Gimli felt suddenly stuck by the truth he’d long held back from himself: He loved him. Gimli’s heart had found its long-awaited match, his One.

“Isn’t it lovely?” Legolas asked Gimli, oblivious to the lightning strike in Gimli’s heart.

“Yes,” Gimli said, his throat gone dry. “Lovely.”

Legolas smiled at the artisan and set the little bowl regretfully back on its perch. 

Gimli picked it up again. It looked somehow different in his smaller, rougher hands, but no less beautiful. “We’ll take it.”

Legolas protested. Gimli ought to speak to him about money as well. There was a generous stipend set aside by the treasury for Legolas’ use but Gimli paid the woman from his own purse.

Gimli trailed after Legolas through the market feeling strangely disconnected. Had Gimli really not recognized him as his One immediately? So many moments from the past months crystalized into clarity. The sudden, strange arrest Gimli had felt on first seeing Legolas’ face. His irritation with Fili’s inattentiveness. A hundred clenches of his heart.

When he was young, Gimli had asked his father how he’d known Rel was his One.

“Ah, Gimli lad,” Gloin had said. “A thousand different ways.” He shook his head. “Your silver tongue was none of my doing I’m afraid. The best I can describe it—I’d rather die than see your mother unhappy.”

Gimli thought of all the times he’d coaxed and hoarded Legolas’ smiles. It had never been enough. He’d always wanted another.

But, in the end, what did it matter? Gimli could not speak. It would be the ruin of the alliance. And he would not ask of Legolas that he trade one husband he did not love for another. 

Gimli could love quietly and unreturned. Many dwarves did so and were none the worse for it. To be near enough to see his smiles would be enough. 

-

“You braided your hair,” Gimli said.

Legolas turned his head so Gimli could admire the thin braids trailing from his temples. They were a perfect match for Fili’s. Crown Prince braids. Gimli well remembered the months of soft muttered Khuzdul swearing from Fili as he’d tried to master them after Thorin had formally declared him his heir.

“They look lovely on you,” Gimli said, regretful, “but the style of Fili’s braids are customary for the Crown Prince alone.”

Legolas hastened to unravel the braids. “I didn’t realize. Thank you for preventing my misstep.”

Gimli shook his head. “It was a good thought. Braids are very traditional for dwarves. I’m sure we could find a different style for you.”

Legolas smiled at him. “That would be very kind of you, Gimli.” He seated himself in the cushioned chair in front of the dresser, long limbs folded up as neatly as a diplomatic letter of state, and handed Gimli his ivory handled hairbrush. 

Gimli stared at the back of his head. Among dwarves past the age of majority, braiding was a task reserved for lovers. Clearly it was not so among elves. Perhaps it was quite common for friends or attendants to assist with their hair. 

Gimli felt his hand clasp around the hairbrush almost without permission. This too he should explain to Legolas; the difference in their cultural understanding. But the temptation to see if the spill of Legolas’ golden hair were as smooth as it looked was too great. No one would need to know.

The brush ran through Legolas’ hair like silk. Gimli gathered a handful of the fine strands near Legolas' temple, careful not to cause discomfort. The rhythm of the braiding was soothing. Simple. Under, over, cross. Under, over, cross. 

Gimli stopped and stared at his finished handiwork in dismay. He’d given Legolas braids meant for a lord’s spouse. The braids Gimli’s husband might one day wear. 

“Forgive me,” Gimi said. “These aren’t appropriate either.” He reached to unravel the braids but his fingers felt stiff and unwilling.

“A pity,” Legolas said, looking at them in the mirror. He ran a finger along their raised edge. “They’re quite lovely.”

“They look well on you,” Gimli agreed, as he brushed them gently away.

Gimli glanced sidelong at Legolas and cleared his throat. “Legolas,” he said, “I must ask you, now that the betrothal year is almost complete, do you wish to marry Fili?”

How strange to think that almost a year had passed by. So much had changed, and so little. The end Gimli had worked for so diligently might soon be at hand, and yet he felt little happiness for it.

Legolas’ fingers brushed Gimli’s palm as he took back his comb. He held Gimli’s eyes in the dressing table mirror. “Is it what you wish of me?”

“I wish for your happiness,” Gimli said. As much as he could allow himself.

“Then I will stay,” Legolas said.

-

The engagement feast was well attended. Gimli could pick out a few dwarves who had eschewed it, but by and large the lords and ladies of note had come.

Fili and Legloas sat together at the high table. Fili was outfitted in royal blue and silver, his head held high beneath a golden coronet with tips capped in sapphires. A delicate silver circlet, in the elven style, sat lightly on Legolas’ forehead and around his neck hung a brilliant fist-sized ruby that had been meant for an insult.

Gimli hid a smile. The ruby necklace had been gifted by Lord Dumin, delivered in a box of fine, polished oak, with a note: _A gift for our new prince. I hope it is not too heavy._

When Gimli had felt the weight of it in his hands, unnaturally dense, as if it had been cored and weighted with lead, he’d felt anger lick through him with all the heat of a forge. But Legolas had lifted the ruby over his head as if it were nothing and at dinner he’d stood straight-backed and proud, and thanked Dumin with cold and public courtesy.

Thorin offered a toast and as the food and revelry portion of the evening began, gifts started to find their way to the high table: ingots of pure soft gold, strings of emeralds, a silver horn. All were set in front of Fili.

Thorin frowned, watching. The gifts that he and Lady Dis would offer Legolas weren’t to be given until the night of the wedding. He nudged Kili, seated to his left, and Kili looked over and frowned, a mirror of Thorin expression. He bent and retrieved a cylindrical object from beneath his chair and approached the high table, setting it in front of Legolas with a strange chiming clatter that drew many eyes.

Legolas opened the package curiously. Dozens of fine silver arrows spilled out and Legolas smiled. “Thank you, Kili.”

More and more gifts were set before Fili. A golden chalice, rimmed with rubies. A set of curved black daggers with soft tanned grips.

Balin, bless him, set a heavy leather-bound tome before Legolas and said something to him that Gimli couldn’t make out and Gimli watched as venerable, silver-haired Lord Rumir laid a plant with thick, waxy leaves into Legolas’ cupped hands. Legloas smiled. “Hannon le,” Gimli heard him say, faintly. Gimli would have to ask him about it later. Rumir was a fine political ally to have.

Gimli had meant to offer his gift in private, unobserved. It would be utterly telling, to every dwarf in the hall, if not Legolas himself. He looked at the three small gifts set before Legolas, compared to the mountain before Fili, evidence of the disregard in which he was held.

Gimli stood and drew the necklace from his pocket. The white opals shone with inner fire.

Dimly, Gimli could hear exclamations, sharp intakes of breath, a dropped mug, but he could care for nothing else as he watched Legolas lift the necklace and press the stones to his cheek.

-

“Gimli,” Fili said, compassion in every line of his face. 

“Fili,” Gimli said, tiredly, sitting heavily on the low couch in Fili’s anteroom and resisting the urge to bury his face in his hands. “Please do not comfort me. I have betrayed you utterly.”

A one-sided bond was usually no secret between the two parties and their circle of close friends and family. Suitors often made their courtship offers at small gatherings. However, they did not, as a rule, flay themselves open in front of the assembled House of Lords. Particularly not while their One was being feted for their engagement to another.

“As ever, you try yourself too harshly, cousin,” Fili said. “No one can control with whom they fall in love. I should have seen it. He’s your One, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” Gimli said. There could be no question.

Fili nodded. “There’s no need to break the treaty. You’re of the royal line, only a few steps removed from the throne. It is no slight, only a rearrangement that will make everyone the happier.”

Gimli, who had brokered the treaty, and gone through a dozen offers—himself included—before Thranduil would agree, only on the hand of the Crown Prince himself, couldn’t quite muster the same optimism. But foremost, “I do not see why it would make Legolas happier,” Gimli said.

Fili laughed. “You cannot think that Legolas would not prefer you to me.” 

“Why should he?” Gimli said. “I am no prince. There is little enough I could give him.”

“You love him,” Fili said, as if he weren’t of the royal line, where such things must always come second to duty.

“That is not enough,” Gimli said soberly. 

Fili put a hand on Gimli’s shoulder. “I think, cousin,” he said, “that you might find yourself surprised.”

-

“How did you do this?” Legolas asked, his finger tracing around a white gem.

How at least was an easier question to answer than why. How was a trading of favors, a political game at which Gimli was well practiced. “I convinced the Minister of Treasury to right a wrong.”

“Is it mine truly?” Legolas asked. “To do with as I wish?”

“Of course,” Gimli said. It was no show loan from the treasury, to be allowed in Legolas’ rooms but restricted to the mountain.

“I wish to send it to my father,” Legolas said.

“Certainly,” Gimli said. “We might send it along with the shipment that’s to be delivered tomorrow.” It would be a fine thing to see King Thranduil’s face when he saw the gems arrive alongside sharp silver knives and the one hundred square meters of pure white marble he’d requested. 

But then he thought of Legolas’ face when the necklace had been presented to him: the pain that had warred with peace in his eyes. 

No, the necklace would go with a special courier, to be presented separately from the trade goods, in private.

“Thank you, Gimli,” Legolas said. There was almost something in his eyes that Gimli longed for, but it could only be wishful thinking.

He put a light hand on Legolas’ forearm. “It is my pleasure to serve you, my prince.”

-

When the horns rang out, it took Gimli a moment to realize what they meant. They’d never been used before. 

“Dragon!” someone shouted and Gimli rushed through the halls, to the east watch with its wide, tiered balconies.

I should have insisted on the attempt at a treaty, Gimli thought in despair. No preparations would be enough to stop this calamity. The dragon’s wings were a hundred spans across and his great head blotted out the sun.

“The treasures of Erebor shall belong to Smaug the Terrible,” he hissed with joyful, sibilant malice. “ _Tremble_ before me!”

An arrow shot past his cheek and Smaug hissed in anger. Gimli turned to look for its provenance. Kili, of course. 

Erebor’s few archers lined the balcony, bows at the ready. Kili stood at one end, and at the other, fire in his eyes, stood Legolas. “Loose!” Kili shouted and a volley of arrows flew toward Smaug. They bounced harmlessly off his black-scaled chest. 

“Aim for the head!” Legolas said and another volley flew. 

Smaug tossed his head in irritation, as if he were a horse swatting off flies, but he did not stop.

Along the lower balcony, Gimli could see the trebuchets being wheeled forth. Burning pitch was poured over great chunks of stone. “Fire!” Dwalin bellowed and the stone flew.

This, it seemed, did give Smaug pause. He swerved and dove but he did not turn to flee. In the distance, Gimli could hear the bells of Dale ringing. 

“Keep firing! Where are the spear launchers?” Dwalin yelled. 

The archers had abandoned their futile efforts and moved to help with the spears. Legolas appeared at Gimli’s elbow. His eyes were wide and dark. Gimli remembered well his trepidation over the accumulated wealth of Erebor. _Do you not fear dragons?_

“Legolas,” Gimli said, “We must get you to the safety of the vaults.” Thorin was supposed to be taken there as well, and Fili, although Gimli imagined they’d soon be at the battlements alongside Kili.

Legolas shook his head. “My place is here,” he said. His hands reached over his shoulders for the ebony hilts of his knives. 

What a two foot knife might do against a two thousand foot dragon Gimli couldn’t fathom but he felt the same sentiment rise in his own breast. “Very well,” he said, and then there was no time for speech as they loaded spears and fired them, again and again, dwarven engineering making them fly fast and deadly if they could only land a hit.

Smaug screeched and wheeled away and a cheer went up among the dwarves. _Yanâd Durinul!_

The cheers died away as dragon fire licked through the city of Dale. Thorin stepped forward. “He may yet return. Bring up more munitions and call out the army that we stand ready to render assistance to Dale.”

Legolas was staring out across the expanse between Erebor and Dale. “They have hit him,” he said. “Prince Bard stands in the watchtower.”

Thorin came to stand beside them. “Where?” he demanded. “Smaug seems to have taken no hurt.” 

Legolas shook his head. “His armor has been cracked at the chest.” He tapped his own chest, demonstrating the placement. Right over his heart. “Our aim must be so true again if we hope to kill him.”

Thorin nodded, determined, and began to pass the word to the soldiers.

In the sky, Smaug screamed and writhed and turned back toward Erebor. “A curse on men and dwarves!” he cried. “However you may prick me, I _will_ have your gold!” An arrow, a black arrow, was lodged in his left flank, and Gimli’s eye caught on the weak place in his breastplate. 

“Gimli,” Legolas said, and his voice was quite calm. “I must tell you something.”

“This is not the time for declarations,” Gimli said, although perhaps it was. Perhaps it would be the only time he could say it. 

“You must know you are very dear to me,” Legolas said, heedless. “I did not stay in Erebor for Fili or even for duty. I have stayed here for you.”

The heat of Smaug’s breath was so close Gimli could feel tears sting his eyes. The truth spilled from his lips, “I wish for you to marry Fili only because I cannot wish for you to accept my suit. To love you from afar will be enough for me.”

“I do not know if we will have such a choice,” Legolas said. “But if we do, Fili knows my heart and would release me to you gladly.” His eyes turned again to the dragon. “I fear I must do something first,” he said, and as Smaug swept near to the mountain, Legolas leapt from the balcony.

Shock froze Gimli in place. The thrum of the spear launchers paused and he heard Dwalin swear. “What in Mahal’s name is he doing?”

What Legolas was doing was gripping Smaug’s enormous shoulder. As Gimli watched, he pulled himself up into a crouched position. Smaug hissed and snapped at him with his great jaws. “What’s this?” he said, spouting fire. “An elf in Erebor?”

Legolas drove his knives into the flesh of Smaug’s shoulder in answer. Gimli’s mother worked only with the strongest silver. The knives pierced down to the hilt.

Smaug’s scream shook the very walls of the mountain. He dove and turned, trying to throw Legolas off, but Legolas held tightly.

“Good gods,” Fili said softly, “he’s going to get himself killed.” Gimli hadn’t seen him join the soldiers but Fili’s hands were black with pitch. He must have been working the trebuchet.

Suddenly, Legolas was standing, his pale hair, singed with black, whipping in the wind. He pulled his knives from Smaug’s shoulder. Smaug was twisted with his belly toward the sky, his chest exposed. Legolas raced to the crack in his armor and drove in a knife, past the hilt, his entire arm buried in Smaug’s flesh up to the shoulder. Red blood gushed down the side of his tunic.

Smaug made a single weak sound, more of surprise than of pain, and then his great wings went still and they both plunged to earth.

-

That Legolas yet lived was a miracle beyond comprehension. Gimli thanked Mahal hourly and begged his further intercession even more frequently. Smaug’s huge body had cushioned Legolas in their shared fall but the impact had still broken his clavicle and three ribs besides. Pink burns stretched down the left side of his face and neck.

For two weeks Gimli had been waiting for Legolas’ eyes to open, barred from the infirmary for all but an hour a day by writ of an elven healer and his own uncle, though Oin had tried to do so kindly.

“I’ve heard whispers that he is your One,” Oin had said, questioning but not condemning. Gimli didn’t think he would have done so even before the dwarven conception of Legolas had undergone such an abrupt turn after his role in Smaug’s demise. Glasses were raised in toast to his name every night, in every tavern.

“Aye,” Gimli said. Legolas had given him hope if not promises. Those could be made when he woke.

Thranduil had heaped a thousand curses on Thorin and Erebor for the state in which he’d found his son. 

“It was a feat of true heroism,” Thorin told him humbly. “We owe Prince Legolas a great debt.”

“It is a debt you could never repay,” Thranduil said with cold rage. Something about his face seemed to shimmer and morph, one eye going milky white, but it was gone in a blink. “And I have had ill luck with the dwarven definition of debt in any case.”

Gimli stepped forward and bowed low. “King Thranduil, we shall strive to be more transparent in our new contracts than in those long past.”

“Lord Gimli,” Thranduil said, his eyes sharp. “On your honor, I will rely.” There had been no missive acknowledging the return on the white gems, but the courier had told Gimli that Thranduil had thanked him with unforeseen courtesy. “For six centuries I begged for the return of that necklace,” Thranduil said. “You knew my son for barely a year before you sent it back.”

“I would offer anything in my power to ensure his happiness,” Gimli said.

Thranduil looked at him for a long time. Gimli held his gaze, unflinching. Finally, Thranduil said, his voice soft, “Yes, I believe you would.”

-

“Is it too unsightly?” Legolas asked. He waved a hand over the pink shine of the still healing burns and Gimli watched as they faded to pale, perfect skin. “My _adar_ taught me to—”

“No,” Gimli said, taking his hand. “Leave it. I have never seen anything so beautiful as your face.” Eighteen days it had taken for Legolas to wake, but thereafter he’d improved in leaps and bounds. His bones had already knit and Gimli had been given leave to escort him back to his rooms. 

The rest of Legolas’ face turned mildly pink to match his scars. He laughed. “It was your kind heart that wooed me, but I cannot say your silver tongue is unappreciated.”

A dwarf leapt out of their path and bowed to Legolas over his hands. 

“Truly they don’t need to keep doing that,” Legolas said, watching the dwarf depart. “Erebor is my kingdom to defend as well.”

“You have well earned the respect and the political capital that comes with it,” Gimli said. “They will grant you any boon.”

Legolas looked at him. “There is only one thing I would ask for.” 

“And what might that be?” Gimli asked. In his chest, he could feel the beat of his heart thudding like a drum.

Legolas put a hand on his shoulder and turned so that they were face to face. He leant down and Gimli felt himself lean up, drawn like a magnet until their lips met. Legolas’ lips were soft and warm as spring rain. Gimli felt a lightness sweep over him, as if he’d been carrying an anvil all his life and been suddenly relieved of it.

“I would like a summer wedding if that is amenable to you,” Legolas said airily.

“Yes,” Gimli said, dazed. There was a tingling sensation running through his nerves, the hair on his arms standing up with the opposite of chills.

“Good,” Legolas said. “I’ll let Master Turi know to begin work on our robes. And your mother offered to manage the flowers for us. She suggested roses.”

“Yes,” Gimli said. “Whatever you’d like.”

-

“You do not truly have to send my father tribute every year,” Legolas said, watching the wagons of trade goods leave bound for Mirkwood, a small golden chest set snugly between the quarried stone and ironworks. Inside, Gimli had tucked various treasures he’d accumulated over the course of his first year as Legolas’ husband: a string of pearls from far off Gondor, a chess set carved in onyx and malachite, a velvet bag that rattled with gems the size of a thumbnail. His mother had added a stiletto hilted in gold, his father a pendant of rare rose quartz. And there were small tokens too from Fili and Kili, from Dis and Thorin. 

“It is the least I can offer for the treasure I stole from him,” Gimli said.

Legolas rolled his eyes. “I am no kidnapped maiden.”

“But here you are by my side and away from his,” Gimli said. “Surely some form of recompense is due.”

“Well,” Legolas said, smiling, “if you insist.”

Gimli mentally tallied another sapphire to next year’s total. For every one of Legolas’ smiles, Gimli felt he owed Thranduil no less than a gem, though it was a paltry exchange when no sapphire could ever hope to achieve such brilliance. “I do,” Gimli said, and pressed his lips to the palm of Legolas’ hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are loved! I’m also smilebackwards on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/smilebackwards) and [Dreamwidth.](https://smilebackwards.dreamwidth.org/)


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